A Wrinkle in Time
by ink and ashes
Summary: Long ago, in the land of Selene – what the humans now call the Moon – there was a Princess who possessed the Gift. And with her Gift, she committed the unthinkable in order to save her people. Mahiru x Nozomu. Semi A.U.
1. Prologue: In A Time Before

They thought that praying would suffice -

But she knew that hope would come with sacrifice.

**A . W R I N K L E . I N . T I M E**

_Princess, Princess, why do you cry?_

_Why do your tears fall so fast?_

_Is it because you had to say goodbye_

_To the lives you took in the past?_

It came without warning.

Isn't that how it always is? The victim never had ample time to prepare—to strategize—to prevent tragedy from occurring. The outcome is always the same. Always, always the same. Death, destruction, pain, blood, tears, screams. History always speaks of bloodshed—and we are always fated to repeat the mistakes of our fathers and forefathers.

Just as I . . . am fated to repeat those of my grandmother.

My grandmother was a calm, serene woman. Her days as the Princess were always warm and bright. The people adored her; whilst many women of my line were blessed with the gift of Light, not many women were born into my family—and the Lady Diana, the Spirit of the Moon herself, is very partial to women. I was never able to see my grandmother young, but our people told me stories. When I was a child and allowed to roam the lands however I wished, they would tell me of long, midnight hair and eyes the color of warm tea. Skin as pale as snow and as soft as silk. I believed them; for, though old, my grandmother was still beautiful. I wanted to be like her—that gentle, that loved.

But there was another story; the tale of my mother's parentage. My uncle—the successor to the Throne of Selene—was born through the union of my grandmother and one of the humans from Earth, as my line was forbidden from mixing blood with our people and, then, Selene and Earth were in communicable terms. My grandmother, however, loved a demon. Since she was a child, she'd loved him—and conceived a child outside of her union. That child was my mother.

The demon—my grandfather—was found and killed by the Council. My grandmother, still the Sovereign in spite of everything, managed to save my mother from the Council's unfair clutches, but my grandmother's disregard for the Sacred Rules had changed much in the land of Selene; the land that would one day be known as the Moon, a mere chunk of floating rock.

My uncle despises me. As does his son, my cousin. They see the same "disgrace" in me; a potential threat.

But that changes nothing; the end is the same.

Always, always the same.

**PROLOGUE**

Ch.000

"_Princess! Princess, where are you!?_"

The clamor of booted feet followed closely on the tail of that urgent roar. Balanced easily on the rail of her marble balcony, the young blonde smiled to herself and jumped from her perch. "_I see her through the window!_" she heard the youngest of the Guard yell as she plummeted through night's wind, a cacophony of voices cutting through the silence. She giggled softly as wings of fine, silver light kept her from an ill-fated fall—she'd spent forever wishing to leave the confines of the castle walls. Tonight was it. _'The trials of the day are worth it, if I can have this.'_

Once her bare feet touched grass still warmed from the sun's light, the young princess ran for all she was worth; her pale cheeks paling further from the cold wind, miles and miles of hair freeing from their combs and billowing behind her like a shimmering tail of silver silk.

Past the Imperial Gates and into the cobblestone streets of the nearby village; none but a were-creature could ever hope to catch her. At twelve, she was healthy and athletic, strong and smart—she would not give them a chance to catch up. It was the dead of night, with Earth hanging in the sky like a nine-month belly ready to give birth, but villagers were wide-awake. Night was a gift, and the people of Selene loved it—_lived_ for it. Recognizing the fair-haired child, they gaped as a small army chased through the streets in hot pursuit of her; the soldiers of His Majesty were of the best Selene had to offer—a twelve year old girl would have to work _hard_ to get one over on them.

But she was the Princess, and a chosen; luck was on her side.

She lost them after encountering a winding alley and hiding in an old, moldy barrel. It smelled of stale ale and dirt got on her voluminous robes, but that was nothing—she waited until the footfalls had ended before chancing a glance outside of her hiding place. Seeing nothing but a dark alley, she ventured out further . . . and bumped her head onto someone's shin. "You okay down there?" came a voice from above, and she had the passing, hazy notion that the Spirit Diane was talking to her. But Diane, of course, was a woman—_this_ voice was not.

Cobalt eyes looked up to meet warm, friendly sapphire; he was tall with sandy, autumn hair and a smile. She was silent, her tongue grown thick and useless—when he got no answer, he bent his knees and came almost eyelevel to her, a basket of meats and fruits set down next to him. "Need help?" She didn't even notice he was setting her upright until she felt solid ground beneath her feet and his long, tendony hands brushing away the dirt on her robes. Whatever trance she'd slipped under dissipated and her cheeks flooded with color—he took it in stride, smiling with understanding. "I'm terribly sorry about that—vampire's gaze and such." He chuckled a little. "Didn't your mama ever tell you not to look anyone in the eye?"

"I-I. . ." What was she supposed to say? She was fortunate that he didn't realize who she was—maybe the dirt had ruined the gown enough?—but what was she supposed to do? She was a horrible liar, that much had been tested long ago, so . . . what? "M-my mother, she—" Was this what it was to be tongue-tied? Is this was a vampire's gaze did to people? No wonder the storybooks told her to be wary.

His eyes turned sad. "You don't have one, do you?" At her apparent surprise, he apologized. "I pick up things—I didn't mean to pry."

"Mahiru," she blurted, and wondered where her brain went. Judging by the twitch in his brow, he may have been wondering the same thing. "M-my name. It's Mahiru." She let out a silent breath; as far as she knew, the kingdom wasn't well-versed in the Princess' identity as an individual. She hoped that held true. _'And I'm acting like an idiot—_nothing_ like what a princess is _supposed_ to act like.' _Maybe that would be in her favor. "A-and yours?"

That smile came back, fangs and all, though they weren't noticeable if one weren't looking for them. She'd never met a vampire before. "Nozomu, little one. I am called Nozomu." He ruffled her hair. "Here," he reached into his basket and handed her an apple, red and ripe. She looked at him in question, but took the offered fruit and she finally returned his grin. _'He doesn't even know me, but he's so friendly.'_ There weren't any bad vibes coming from him at all—she bit into the apple and found no poison. Chewing and swallowing, she thanked him. "You're so nice, and we just met. I-I don't have anything to give you, but I promise I—"

With a wave of his hand, he silenced her. "Think of it as a gift—you look like you haven't eaten in a while anyway." He was so astute—she'd missed her mother something terrible in the last few months since her death, and as a result, her appetite had diminished. She took another bite and chewed. "How old are you?"

"Twelve," she answered, making sure her mouth was empty before speaking.

That answer seemed to please him. "Ah, you're getting at that age. It _was_ you the guards were after, wasn't it?"

She almost choked on the apple. "I-I—"

He chuckled again. "Don't worry—I won't say anything." He stood, bringing up the basket with him. A sigh slipped from his lips, and he looked out at the streets as if he weren't talking to her at all. "You know, it would seem awfully suspicious that a little girl would be walking around by herself." He checked his pockets absently. "But if her older, handsome brother were carting her around, then perhaps no one would stare and ask so many questions." He snuck a look at her from the corner of his eye. She caught it and couldn't believe a stranger would go through so much trouble for her. "That is, of course, if she doesn't mind."

Even if she did, she didn't really have a choice; he could yell for the Guards, and there went her plan of escape. But more importantly, she felt nothing nasty or distrustful coming from him, and she'd always been sensitive to things like this. He meant her no harm at all, and she could only thank her lucky stars that things had turned out thus. She smiled and shook her head no. Grinning, he held out his hand.

She took it.

Nozomu still had some shopping to do, it seemed. Some spices, mostly, and some more meats—a very healthy eater, this vampire. She asked about this—didn't vampires drink blood?—but he smiled, letting her know that he did not live alone, and that a very picky, pushy chef lived at his home. Mahiru had the funny suspicion he cut his trip shorter than it should have been, however, which may or may have not been attributed to the fact that she was attracting much attention; her robes, in spite of how rumbled or wrinkled they may have gotten, was still highly unusual outside of the castle walls, which was something she had not thought about—she'd never been so far from home.

They walked for miles, it felt. The village—Nanaset, he'd called it—was far behind them, her eyes drinking in the wide, open fields and fresh night air. Running ahead in a burst of energy, she giggled and twirled around, the feel of grass between her toes a sensation she hadn't felt since happier days. It reminded her of smiles and long walks by the meadow with her mother. Of casual strolls in the nearby village of Eden's Pass. _'I wish this could last forever.'_ The tranquility of this moment was what she'd craved for so long.

She'd forgotten she'd had an audience. Having spun herself dizzy, she let herself fall in a pile of silk and hair. She felt so . . . _free_. Thoughts of the Guard or her uncle were the farthest from her mind; this moment was ambrosia she'd never pass up.

Her view of the sky was blocked, the natural glow emitting from Earth shining behind him like a halo. He looked like an angel in that moment and she found herself flustered yet again. "There's something different about you, little one." He smiled again, just like he had earlier when she'd crawled from that dirty, grimy barrel. The thought crossed her mind that if this kind, understanding man had _really_ been her brother, she would have never leapt from her balcony for a single night of escape. "But as much as I'd love to let you have your fun, it's not wise to linger in the open like this." His fine, pale digits were cool to the touch; he pulled her up easily and she followed him without complaint.

"I live in a cabin by a creek; the creek, of course, is located within the woods, which you should be starting to see momentarily." He looked down at her—she knew by the sensation in the back of her neck. For a moment, he was quiet. "Have you ever been in a Wood, Mahiru-chan?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"I figured." She wondered if she'd answered wrongly. Her world was full of wrong answers; it would only make sense that the outside world would operate in the same fashion. "Have you ever been carried?"

That one surprised her. "N-not . . . since I was a baby." Her mother used to carry her until she was too weak. The Guards would occasionally lift her when she couldn't reach her mother's sickbed, but that hardly counted. "Why?"

His fangs were showing again, glimmering pearly white. "The Wood floor has many sharp and damaging things that could hurt you—your bare feet would be submitted through much stress and strain." Another thing she hadn't thought of. What would she have done without this kind vampire's aid? "But I'm sure I could carry you; if you don't mind, of course." He switched the basket to his other arm. "I would never touch a Lady without her permission."

Her shoulders tensed. 'Lady'? Perhaps he was just being polite, but . . . Oh, she hoped he remained ignorant of her status. "Okay," she half-whispered, uneasy and unsure. She wasn't even allowed enough time to fret over propriety; one moment his arm was around her tiny waist—and the next, her legs were dangling against his chest, her stomach flush against the back of his head. It was a heady, giddy feeling, being so high. _'I feel like I'm two instead of twelve.'_ Some of the men would carry their daughters around like this, the fathers holding onto their child's ankles so that they wouldn't fall. Never behind the uptight walls of her home, of course, but in the village streets, with the Guards, even.

This was . . . nice.

It felt horribly uncomfortable, however, having her bare legs out in the open like this; the hem of her skirts had been dragged up and most of them trailed behind her and down the vampire's back—and what about her hands? Did she leave them dangling uselessly by her sides? That left her too unbalanced—so where? In his hair? _'My uncle would call me a harlot for thinking such things.'_ This was, quite possibly, one of the oddest situations she'd ever been in. Nozomu, though—astute as ever—offered her a solution. "Would you be so kind as to hold the basket? I can't help but feel as if you'll fall at any minute, and I need both hands to steady you."

The princess agreed readily and took the basket from him, enjoying the ride. The journey through the Wood wasn't as long as the walk through the village and field, but it still took a while. When the wooden dwelling appeared in the aforementioned location, she felt anxious and excited—she'd meet others like Nozomu, and steal just a little more time away from her uncle. She quietly thanked whatever deity was looking out for her for sending Nozomu her way—she may have ended up in the Guards' clutches without his help.

'_Look mama—I made a friend tonight. And he's nice. You were looking out for me, weren't you?'_

The door swung open with a creak—the lights had already been on—and a chorus of greetings assaulted the two once they entered. She, of course, had not been expected, so it was normal when a boy that looked only a few years older than herself did a double take and yelped. "A human?" That comment had all heads turning their way; she wished she could hide behind Nozomu, but he hadn't let her down yet.

The door was closed soundly behind them and only when he was good and ready did the vampire let her down. "Here, Akira; I got the supplies—and since we have a guest tonight, I'm sure you wouldn't mind cooking up something special."

He'd tickled the right chord; the boy called Akira grinned widely and took the basket. Like a weary child, she somewhat hid behind his leg, not liking the attention she'd wrought upon herself. Nozomu saw this and smiled, gently pushing her out into the open. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Mahiru; Mahiru, this is everyone." He motioned to a shorter boy with hair that would make any girl envious. He sat with a book in his lap. "This is Misoka." Mahiru did a small curtsey out of habit, noting the way Misoka's eyes widened a fraction. Did they not curtsey here? "The one cooking—_with his tail wagging_—is Akira, and the grumpy one in the corner by the fireplace is Mitsuru." At the sound of his name, the young man's eyes hardened, but she curtseyed anyway and smiled a little.

Since there was such an awkward silence, she decided to speak up, though her voice was small. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. . ."

That did it; slamming the book closed, the short one—Misoka—stood and pointed at Nozomu accusingly, his eyes narrowed slits. "You kidnapped the _Princess?!_" Mahiru almost jumped out of her skin. "What in Selene's name could have possessed you, Nozomu? We'll be executed on the _spot_ once His Majesty finds out about this—and you introduce her as if our hides aren't endangered simply because we haven't knelt in her presence!" Misoka tossed his book down on the couch he'd been sitting on.

And Nozomu, as if the mention of the Princess did not surprise him, simply smiled. "I found her hiding in a barrel—she was _running_ from the Guard." He placed his hand on her head, but the gesture was lost on her—he must have known who she was on sight. "Mahiru-chan seemed to not want to be known—so I indulged her and brought her back here; I couldn't leave a twelve year old girl alone on the streets, Misoka."

"I left the castle of my own will, Misoka-san." She bowed her head in apology. "Nozomu-san was kind enough to help me; forgive me if I am intruding." Your run-of-the-mill princess she may not be, but damn it all if she didn't know her manners. "I do not want you all in danger because of me."

"Nonsense," said Nozomu, who ushered her into a seat. "You're the Guest of Honor."

That smile of his should be outlawed. Behind him, Mahiru saw the scowl on Misoka's face, but there was something more there too. From the corner, Mitsuru growled and grumbled something she couldn't hear, but she could tell it wasn't very nice by the tone. "This is most unwise, Nozomu," said Misoka, who sat back down, but never let them out of his sight. "You shouldn't be so close to her—you'd be killed for that alone." There was a hushed quality to his voice. "A commoner shouldn't share such familiarity with one of noble blood."

"Misoka's so strict, ne Mahiru-chan?" He poked her nose and she couldn't help a small giggle. "Mahiru-chan and I are friends, ne?" She could feel herself glowing in response. Misoka said nothing, but the unease was there—Mahiru decided that concentrating on Nozomu was best for a smile. He treated her like a person; not some untouchable doll, not some "insolent little brat" or a "burden" . . . but a girl.

"Hai! Tomodachi!"

**END.**


	2. Chapter One: AWAKENING

They thought that praying would suffice -

But she knew that hope would come with sacrifice.

**A . W R I N K L E . I N . T I M E**

_Princess, Princess, why do you cry?_

_Why do your tears fall so fast?_

_Is it because you had to say goodbye_

_To the lives you took in the past?_

When the time came to sleep, I chose a slumber—I hoped—that I would never wake from.

I didn't deserve a reprieve from my grief, but I selfishly took it anyway. I was seventeen when I made the decision; I was still young. I knew only of what I had done, and what I would do to ensure the survival of my people—but I also knew what that act required. There can be no glorified version of this tale, for the truth is that I am a horrible, horrible person. I am the catalyst—the domino that started this escalating drama. My very existence is plagued with 'what ifs' and 'if onlys'. I should have listened to my uncle—to _anyone_ who had told me.

But the blood of a demon ran in my veins; my will was iron-clad and unbreakable.

I am the only monster here. Not those striving in this world—this Earth, the closest thing to a home we will ever have anymore—not those poor creatures I sentenced to a lifetime of turmoil; only me. Just me. I am the beast. There is no beauty, no pretty coverings or sugary toppings; only me. _I_ doomed my people. _I_ brought about the end. The end of conflict, the end of annihilation—the end of _life_.

Now, watching the world spin and go on without me, I only wish I could have done things differently; wish I had never been born. I was—_am_—their princess, and they believe that I—the me of before; the little girl the vampire brought home that fateful day—have died and passed on. They believe that I found another love, had children, and hid from them. _'I would never love another—never in all of the endless years of my everlasting life.'_ They believe I—the me of now—am . . . I do not know what they think of me. Do I want them to remember? I . . .

Back then, I thought I was right. Back then, I shed tears because of what I had to do—what I _knew_ I had to do. Back then, I destroyed the lives of millions, thinking I was saving them. Back then, I made a mistake—a silly, childish mistake.

I am a fool. Not _was_—_am_. I _am_ a fool.

**AWAKENING**

Ch.001

She broke surface with a small gasp, panting from holding her breath so long.

"A minute forty-five; think you were in there long enough?" Junko knelt by the edge of the pool, peering down at her friend. With a sigh, the young blonde took off her goggles and strapped them comfortably over her swimming cap, wiping some water away from her face with her soaked hands. "Be careful you don't drown yourself, Duckie."

"Yeah—with my luck, it's possible." Junko let out a small laugh. "I'm just gonna swim a little longer."

"Alright. I'll wait for you out front."

"Okay." The goggles came back down over her eyes; she waited until her long-haired friend had left before pushing off of the pool wall and submerging herself in the heated waters. _'I just need some time to myself,'_ she reasoned silently, finding solace in the picturesque vista of fish and turtles; a plethora of creatures that couldn't possibly have been there. Kicking her legs gently beneath the water, she twirled and spun, having grown accustomed to the colorful array of aquatic life—this world within the water. _'I'll never understand how this is possible . . . but I love it.'_ The others in the swim team merely swam laps back and forth, strengthening themselves for the upcoming meet—what _she_ was supposed to be doing—but she couldn't find it in herself to join them. She only wanted tranquility; the feel of liquid peace against her skin.

Peace. Could she achieve it in her heart? Inside she waged a war; everyday was a new battle. She was always depressed—_but why?_—and always unhappy—_there should be no reason for sadness_—but she would try; she smiled every morning and smiled every night. All of the bad things were just minor setbacks—she wouldn't let them get to her. _'What's wrong with me? Why am I like this—what am I waiting for?'_ She swam easily beneath her teammates, scattering a school of fish. She reached out a languid appendage and her fingers felt the scales of a fleeing creature. _'So real.'_

When she resurfaced, it was her swimming instructor looking down at her. "You've been underwater for almost three minutes—where can I find lungs like yours, Shiraishi?" There was a smile on her face, even as a lecture was about to rear its ugly head. "But it would be more productive to practice your technique than to just flounder around. The meet's in a few weeks, and your form isn't anywhere _near_ where it should be." The tall, slender woman looked down at her student with something akin to mild disappointment.

"Gomen, sensei; I'll try harder." Great—something _else_ to make her feel bad. _'Oh, don't look at it that way—see it as a chance to make it right; I _have_ been slacking off a lot lately.'_ Swimming away from the edge, she went to join the others in their practice.

Unfortunately, she'd forgotten Junko was waiting for her outside; almost an hour later found her running out of the school, mortified that she'd been so careless and forgetful. Her friend was nowhere to be found and she panicked, running to a payphone and calling a cellphone number she knew by heart. When a voice answered, she almost cried with relief. "Oh Junko—you're okay! I'm so sorry I made you wait so long; I lost track of time and I completely forgot—" Her nervous babble was interrupted with a good-naturedly laugh. She didn't know if that was a good or bad thing—but her guilt was enormous, and she'd do anything to make it up to her friend.

"It's alright, Mahiru; I figured you'd forgotten, so I just went home. My mom was nagging me about doing the dishes anyway, so it's fine." A voice called Junko's name somewhere in the background. "Gotta go—see ya in school tomorrow, 'kay? Don't sweat it." After her relieved agreement, a dial tone greeted her ears and she hung up, sighing.

'_It's a good thing my friends are so used to my unreliability,'_ was the stray thought that ran through her mind, but it was little comfort. It hurt, knowing that her unreliability was expected. That her friend already knew she'd forget. Though she abhorred violence, she would have preferred an argument than this acceptance of her ill-luck. Her forgetfulness. _'Why is it always like this? Why can't anything ever go right? Something as simple as meeting Junko and I blotch it by forgetting.'_ Friends didn't do that—weren't so careless.

Mahiru didn't want to go home. Not like this, with her eyes glassy and a painful lump in her throat. Her aunt would only worry, and that'd be another tally against her. No, she wanted . . . _'More time to think.'_ But it seemed she only messed up everything when she thought. Frustrated tears blinded her and she curled her fists tightly. _'I feel so useless!'_ She wanted to run, but knew better than to go blindly in the crowded streets of Japan at this time of day.

She'd be run _over_ for certain.

"Maybe . . . I could go to the library for some studying." Or at least some reading—there'd been something she'd been meaning to look up for a while now anyway. Might as well; she had all the time in the world to mope and drown in self-pity later. She could at least make herself more productive beforehand. "Yeah—that's what I'll do." Readjusting the straps of her schoolbag, she set off in the direction of the library with straight shoulders and an uplifted chin. With her mind on her task, she effectively distracted herself from her earlier misgivings . . .

However, it also distracted her from _everything else_; bumping face-first into someone was inexcusable when the sidewalks were barely crowded and it was broad daylight. The man had growled and ran from her, cursing her and proclaiming, "It's you!" before disappearing. The _second_ time she bumped into someone, she wanted to crawl into a hole and die, her mortification levels were so high. _'That's it—it's official. Shiraishi Mahiru is _hopeless._'_ She might as well start living in a bubble, because this was just ridiculous. Apologizing profusely, she looked up into the poor victim's eyes—

And froze.

_Cobalt eyes looked up to meet warm, friendly sapphire; he was tall with sandy, autumn hair and a smile. She was silent, her tongue grown thick and useless—when he got no answer, he bent his knees and came almost eyelevel to her, a basket of meats and fruits set down next to him. _"Need help?"_ She didn't even notice he was setting her upright until she felt solid ground beneath her feet and his long, tendony hands brushing away the dirt on her robes. Whatever trance she'd slipped under dissipated and her cheeks flooded with color—he took it in stride, smiling with understanding. _"I'm terribly sorry about that—vampire's gaze and such_." He chuckled a little. _"Didn't your mama ever tell you not to look anyone in the eye?"

He seemed just as frozen as she, although he recovered far earlier. "It's quite all right; I should have paid more attention to where I was going." He winked at her. "Of course, I may have done that on purpose; who _wouldn't_ want to bump into a cutie like you?" His smile was contagious, although her face had gone aflame. Compliments were not a-dime-a-dozen for her, so, understandably, she didn't know how to take one. "Are you okay?" Inquired the flirt, all seriousness now. When she nodded, he smiled again.

Her knees felt all wobbly. _'Jeez; a guy acts friendly and I act stupid. I have _no_ talent for human interaction.'_ She bowed her head slightly in further apology. "I'm really really sorry; I'll be on my way now." She walked around him and missed his eyes following her, searching; she felt relief that he didn't pursue the matter, but . . . maybe it was that compliment—flirty, offhand, or otherwise. . .

The library was comfortably air-conditioned and pleasant-smelling. Upon seeing the rows and rows of shelves, she became uncertain as to where she should begin her search. _'Princess. . . a song about a princess.'_ And of demons and moons and Ministers. She didn't bother repeating the song to anyone anymore in hopes of more specific references; no one had ever heard of it. Over the years, she realized that no one would _ever_ have heard of it. "Princess, Princess, why do you cry . . .?" She sang to herself as she searched Mythology and Legends, finding some vague clues and old storybooks. _'Can't hurt to try these.'_ After all—stories always held a nugget of truth. Surely, she'd find something worth the read.

With a pile of books higher than her line of sight, Mahiru found herself on the second floor a few minutes later, wobbling back and forth. _'Ack! Why couldn't I be like everyone else and tackle one book at a time?'_ If she could just get to the table. . .

A yelp tore itself from between her lips; for the third time that day, she bumped blindly into someone. "Man, why do things like this always happen to me?" she moaned, rubbing her abused rear. First her instructor, then Junko, that angry man, then that blue-eyed man from earlier, now _this_ poor soul she'd managed to crash into. Who _else_ would she disappoint or hurt today? "Ugh. . ."

"Are you all right?"

Her heart was doing strange, flip-floppy things. Quickly—and with reddened cheeks—she fixed her skirt and tried to stand, but found herself lost in his gaze once more. "Got to pay attention where you're going." Listening to his kansai dialect again, it crossed her mind once more that he was a foreigner. Never mind her own features—which were odd enough—but she could only deduce as much. _'Did he follow me?'_ He certainly didn't _look_ dangerous—and he didn't have that 'bad guy' aura hanging over him—so unless he was a really good actor . . . _'I-I can't stop blushing. This is insane.'_ She numbly stared until he curiously inquired, "What's the matter?"

_That_ snapped her out of it. "N-n—" Oh, but the blood was positively _drowning_ her face. "N-nothing! Oh; my books!"

Like a gentleman, he wordlessly helped her place all of the books atop the wooden desk—which had only been a foot away, much to her chagrin. "I'm really sorry; thank you so much for your help." They both reached for the last book, which was innocent enough, but he yanked his hand back as if burned. "Er . . . is something wrong?" She looked up at him in confusion, but he hid his aforementioned hand behind his back and smiled, waving away her concern.

"Ah, it's nothing. No biggie." She stared still. "Just a bit of static, is all."

"O-okay." Sitting, she ducked her head and busied herself with looking over the book titles. _'My heartbeat's still crazy.'_

The scrape of a chair against the floor made her drop her pen. "So, what are you researching?" He rifled through the dense pile, picking up a particular title that had caught his interest. "Hmm . . . I should've known." It was just loud enough for her to hear, and her blush turned into one of insult. Her affronted "Excuse me?" was met with an apologetic smile. "Nothing—just talking to myself." He handed her the book he'd been holding when she'd plowed so thoughtlessly into him. "Here—this should be the best source for what you're looking for." She eyed him suspiciously, but took the volume and skimmed through a few pages.

She brightened considerably. _'He's totally right!'_ She felt a little more at ease. "Thank you so much! Th-thanks _again_, I mean." Tilting her head to the side, she studied him a little closer. "You seem to know quite a bit on this subject; are you a foreign exchange student here?"

He shook his head in the negative. "Nope—I look the part, but I'm not foreign-bred. Yes siree, born and raised right here in Osaka; the name's Nozomu." He sat forward, watching her watch him.

"Ma-Mahiru," she offered in return, and she could have sworn his smile slipped for just a moment.

But it was still there when she ducked her head to read. His eyes . . . were another matter entirely. She didn't see them darken and glaze over with the faint sheen of remembrance—didn't see the slight crease in his brow. In his lap, the claw that revealed itself with skin-to-skin contact had converted back into a regular human hand, and fisted terribly in his lap, undetected. She couldn't see the millions of thoughts that swirled around his head—but if she looked up, she may have seen the agony etched within every pore of his being.

The story in the book answered some questions—_'It's because of this precedent that children are told never to make promises with demons, even if it only seems like a dream'_—but the lyrics to the song were a bit different . . . and her dreams made this story false.

'_But they're connected. Somehow, they're connected.'_

"Princess, Princess, why do you cry?" Her hand stilled, her eyes widening and darting to the young man with whom she shared the table. "In the forest painted by the setting sun, I made a promise to a demon boy." His voice was . . . in a word, beautiful. The P.A. system came on, alerting them that the library would be closing soon—she barely heard it, her chair scraping loudly against the floor in her shock.

"Nozomu, you know that song?!"

He acted as if he didn't hear her. "Whoopsie; it's closing time." He made to stand, but her hands caught at the lapels of his jacket—no way would she let him go after finally, _finally_ finding someone who knew that song. His smile was small—less energetic and genuine than before. "I take it you've heard of it, little one?" Nozomu watched as she realized how strongly she gripped his clothes and blanched, mortified that she'd been so forward. Today just wasn't her day.

"I-I'm sorry, but—that song. You don't know how long I've waited for someone to recognize it!" Her excitement made her glow.

He was finding it hard to talk. "I know the feeling." He finally did stand, and she stepped back to give him space.

"Please, Nozomu," she asked. "Please—tell me how you know that song. Tell me if you know what it means."

Without a word, he placed his hand on her head. She was blushing again, but it didn't matter—he had the answers she'd been looking for. She could tell by that look on his face—that smile. "I can't explain it here . . . but come with me, Mahiru; I'll tell you how I know the song—and why you're so different from everyone else." He moved his arms around her, his embrace warm and gentle; she found it hard to breathe, let alone move. "I'll tell you about all of the things you've been wondering." She could feel some people staring as they moved about, getting ready to leave . . . she could only imagine what this looked like.

"G-go with you?" How was it that his presence reduced her to a stuttering little girl? _'How can I trust someone I met less than an hour ago?'_ Her aunt would never condone it, and it just _was not_ smart. _'But I want to—I want to follow him.'_ Would the risk be worth it? Were the answers to these missing pieces worth going with him? _'Can I trust him? A complete stranger?'_ After a second's hesitation, she nodded.

He let her go, kneeling before her momentarily. His actions confused her—the look he gave her now was devoid of playfulness or humor. "Forgive this one for his liberties on your person." Before she could say a thing, he stood and walked from the library—she took it as a sign to follow, and so she did, grabbing her discarded bag and running after him hurriedly. Catching up, she took a good, clear look at his face, not understanding how—nor why—he'd gone from all smiles to this serious, silent man she now walked beside.

It didn't feel right at all.

"Nozomu?" she tried. "Where are we going?"

"My—our—home." He looked down at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards again. "Don't worry about me; I'm just thinking is all." He chuckled a little. "I'm glad you care enough to worry—but you still shouldn't."

She faced forward, ducking her head. "H-how did you—?"

"I pick things up—sorta like ESP, I guess." He ruffled her hair—did he know what propriety was? There were certain . . . lines one didn't cross. She'd never had so much physical contact as she'd had today, and she'd just met him! "But I can't read your mind, so your secrets are safe, Mahiru-chan. Just don't _feel_ anything too loudly."

This was certainly food for thought. They walked on in silence, though it wasn't awkward or tense like before. Evening fell and she began to wonder just how far he lived—he'd certainly been a long way from home if he lived _this_ far and she'd found him near the library. She wouldn't say anything, nor ask, but she was hungry and she worried for her aunt. The woman would be concerned if her niece did not call soon or show up. _'I hope he'll let me use his phone.'_ She also hoped she wasn't walking into a very bad scenario; she was just starting to get a bad feeling about this. _'Weird—shouldn't I have gotten the bad vibes _before_?' _Her 'sixth sense' was lagging.

But those bad feelings, it turned out, wasn't to do with the male by her side; from some nearby hedges leapt the dark-haired man she'd bumped into before practically tripping over Nozomu in the street. _'My sins are coming back to haunt me,'_ she thought fatalistically, letting out a strangled yell when a strong arm wrapped around her neck, choking her. She gasped out Nozomu's name, but he was already wrestling the angry, snarling beast away from her—yes, beast; that was no man. That . . . what _was_—

"Barrier!"

Released, the young blonde fell coughing and gasping to the concrete floor, trying to blink away the hazy edges of her vision. Above and around her, she heard voices she didn't recognize. "Akira! Take the Princess back to the bar! And hurry—humans are coming and I only secured this area."

"Gotcha!" Big—_furry?_—arms wrapped around her abdomen and lifted her with ease. "Hold on tight, Princess!" The voice was young and upbeat; without protest, she wrapped her arms around his neck, closing her eyes against the fierce winds that now howled in her ears. _'Oh my God; how fast am I going? How is he doing it?'_ In a moment, she felt warm air and was set down on a very comfy couch—but she scrambled to sit up. "Did I go too fast for you?" She looked around and nearly jumped when she found herself nose-to-nose with a boy who couldn't be older than herself. He grinned, his piercings glinting in the light. "I cut up some apples for you; they're yummy."

They did, indeed, look yummy, but her curiosity overrode her stomach just then. "What is this place?"

The door slammed open and shut. Mahiru's attention was irrevocably drawn. "Let _go_ of me, you bastard!" Struggling against Nozomu's iron-grip, the man that had choked her before thrashed and snarled, growling like an animal. Unintentionally, she drew back into the cushions of the couch. _'All I did was bump into him by accident—I even apologized. That doesn't warrant trying to kill me,'_ she thought, not able to comprehend his hatred.

The struggling went on in vain until he realized he would not be released until calmed—he did, and went to sulk in a corner. _'He must have a thing with grudges,'_ she surmised, looking up to see four pairs of eyes now watching her. For the umpteenth time, her face flushed from the attention. The oldest of them all stood before Nozomu and the boy who had offered her apple slices—the other she did not know, but he was shorter than the rest with large, round glasses and long hair. A beautiful woman sat demurely behind a piano, but her eyes were watching the teen on the couch as well. Mahiru's hands fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.

"Wh-what are . . ." The four of them came closer, and she felt the urge to run again. "What do you want from me? Nozomu?" But they weren't going to cause her harm; like obedient servants, they knelt before her with bowed heads and lowered eyes.

Much like Nozomu had in the library.

Her mouth opened and closed. The oldest spoke, his voice clear and resonating. "We implore you, oh Descendant of the Princess; illuminate our path with the light of the power you hold. Bestow us with the power of the moon." For a moment, they bowed deeper, their noses touching the floor before slowly standing, their eyes even slower in following. "We beseech you, Your Majesty." The only one that would truly meet her gaze was Nozomu—and he found the ground more important a mere second afterwards.

"We are governed by the age of the Moon; our lives move as one with the waning and waxing of Her light." It was Nozomu speaking, but his words felt . . . hollow. Distant. "We . . . we are not human, Princess—we are different. We have both fought with and loved the human race in the past, but we are not amongst human-kind."

The shorter one with the glasses continued, as if reciting a story they knew by heart. "We are born with the Moon's essence in our veins—and we face the extinction of our people. We are the Lunar Race—and you are our Princess." He bowed again. "I am Misoka, Your Majesty. Asagi Misoka." He—Misoka straightened, his eyes hidden behind the glare of his spectacles. Next to him, the youngest bowed as well, a . . . _tail_ moving back and forth, much like a dog would wag its own.

"Yamafu Akira, Princess." His smile was so carefree, so excited.

The oldest bowed his head in respect. "Oboro. I run this establishment: Moonshine; behind the piano there is Sion Katsura, and the one in the corner is Suou Mitsuru." He looked to the blond from the corner of his eye; it did not escape the elder how the Princess had sought the younger man's gaze. "I believe you have already met Maegi Nozomu." Oboro, looking back to the young woman, started.

Her face was as white as a sheet, her eyes riveted to Nozomu with an intensity that scared him. Her knuckles had gone just as pale, gripping her skirt like a lifeline—her mouth hung open.

And she ran.

No one chased her, though "No—let her go, Nozomu," was heard very clearly in her departure. She'd left her bag, but it was hardly important right now—she had to get out of there. The streetlights illuminated her way—thank God—and her legs ate up the pavement as if her life depended on it. Her breath, labored, came in short, whimpering pants. The wind whipped through her short, sunshine hair and she was forced to remember the trip to the bar—a large, speaking _animal_ had carried her there.

The run was long—she was spent by the time she'd collapsed onto her bed. Her aunt would hound her for answers come morning, but right now, all that mattered was the comfort of her pillow.

Her cries were muffled and hopefully unheard. In a futile attempt to block the memories that assaulted her weary mind, she clamped both hands onto either side of her head, screaming into the fluffiness of her abused pillow—she curled into a ball. It was a whirlwind of emotions and images that spun an intricate web around her heart; shattered ice pumped through her bloodstream. It was agony—it was ecstasy. It was the purest form of torture she'd ever undergone. It felt like she'd never be happy again. _'No—I don't want to remember!'_ And the pain increased a thousand fold, the tears soaking into the soft material of her bedding. "Make it stop . . . make it stop!" she whimpered, but her wishes went unanswered, pale fingers curled into her sheets and wrinkling the fabric.

She was glowing; she, of course, didn't see this, but any fool gazing into her window would be able to discern the silver light. It pulsed and surrounded her, drowning her with radiance and tucking her within its folds. A part of her felt the heat—the calming, soothing balm given to her—but another part recoiled, wanting nothing to do with the brilliance cocooning her. The images--the visions, her dreams brought to life--continued to drown her.

_Her surprise was evident in the way her eyes grew wide and followed his every move. Just how had he known she would be here? _"Your shock wounds me, Princess; did you think I'd let you walk these streets on your own?"_ He smiled down at her, but she found she could not speak. He'd . . . he'd waited for her, somehow knowing she'd run away from home again. Giddy with excitement, she ran forward and folded their hands together, warmth and happiness radia—_

_At first, she thought her dream was still playing tricks with her mind—but when she rolled over, she had to stifle her instinctive cry; there, leaning against the rail of her balcony, was the smiling vampire. He always knew just where to find her. _"Once you understand the layout of a place, getting inside is just a matter of time." _In an instant, he was by her bed, and she was sitting up. _"The others are here too—Akira's just having some trouble lugging dinner through one of the vents."_ The moistening of her eyes startled him; he gently wiped away the tears. _"What—you didn't think we'd miss your fifteenth birthday, did you? Since you couldn't come to us, we brought the party to you—now, no more tears, little one—"_ the air was literally knocked out of his lungs—her bear hug was tight enough to cru—_

_Since she didn't know how, Akira took it upon himself to show her. _"Climbing a tree's easy once you get the hang of it—the trick's to balance yourself." _With her smaller hand tucked into his, he helped her climb the large, sturd—_

As if someone had grabbed her and pulled her to the surface, she emerged from the cacophony of visuals and sounds with a ragged gasp. The pain—if it had never truly been there to begin with—was gone, not even a ghost left in its wake to remind her of its visit. Her pulse thrummed like a hummingbird's wing, and the tears were still drying on her cheeks; it had not been imagined. _'I . . . I—'_

"I remember," she whispered into the cold, emptiness of her room. Her four walls--and her impressive collection of aquatic plushies--did not answer. A shuddery breath. "I-I remember."

Covering her face with reddened hands, she cried again. She cried until her tear ducts were empty and she could cry no more; until her tiny hiccups faded in the darkness of her room.

She cried herself to sleep.

**END.**


	3. Chapter Two: FREEFALL

They thought that praying would suffice -

But she knew that hope would come with sacrifice.

**A . W R I N K L E . I N . T I M E**

_Princess, Princess, why do you cry?_

_Why do your tears fall so fast?_

_Is it because you had to say goodbye_

_To the lives you took in the past?_

I think a part of me wanted to reawaken. Perhaps I was needed, perhaps I was drawn out—but I think there was a part of me that wanted to remember. My life on Selene wasn't all bad—I had many, many good memories thanks to those four. It was their faces that triggered it in the first place; but had the seal been stronger, I'm sure it would not have sparked the catastrophe it did.

What would my life have been like, had I never remembered? Had I been smart and _not_ followed Nozomu? Perhaps I would have grown old and died with some nameless husband, bore children and withered away in some grave; never realizing what I was—what I could become. Here, on Earth, I was born to a human mother and father—but that mere fact would not 'cleanse' my spirit of the demon blood that had 'tainted' it so long ago. I was and am their Princess—their Eve. Not a mere Descendant—I was there when Selene crumbled and died. I was there when my kingdom fell; my uncle had not saved us. He was never meant to rule.

We lost our home. Lost our lives, our power, our legacy.

But I won't let that happen again.

Never, _ever_ again.

**FREEFALL**

Ch.002

"Mahiru! Mahiru, there's someone down here to see you!"

Her aunt's voice echoed up the stairs and through the door to her room, stirring her from her coma-like sleep. She'd never been one to slack off, but she was just so _tired_. Nothing was worth getting out of bed for. Mumbling something her aunt, Hanna, had no hope of ever hearing—let alone _comprehend_—she rolled over and groaned in perfect imitation of teenagers across the globe. Had she glanced at the clock, she would have realized that school had begun almost an hour before, but her aunt, having felt her flushed and overheated skin, let her sleep in for the day. Hanna, of course, had no way of knowing that Mahiru ran miles in the frigid night without a jacket—but Mahiru had always been one to get sick easily, so anything could have triggered it; stress, depression. . .

Downstairs, her aunt realized that Mahiru was not yet awake and apologized to their guest, telling him he could come back later. "It was very thoughtful of you to bring her bag; not many people would have done that, especially in a library." He'd declined any and all offers of refreshments, opting to just sit calmly on the couch. He stood now, however, shaking his head.

"It was nothing ma'am," said Nozomu with a small smile. With Hanna escorting him, he walked to the door, smiling politely. "I'll come by later, if that offer still stands." And he _would_ come by later, if permitted.

Perhaps he was a bit too keen on seeing her . . . but she was their Princess, he reasoned, their Descendant; why shouldn't he be?

Hanna returned his pleasant smile, nodding. "Of course you can visit again; I'm sure she'll be feeling up to company by then." Outside, he turned and paused, bowing a little out of habit. "It was nice meeting you, Maegi-san," she said, and he took it as his cue to walk down the steps, waving to her nonchalantly.

"The pleasure was mine," he called out, and he walked out of sight—only to double back and venture around the house. He had no intention of leaving the vicinity just yet; not without seeing his Princess. _'She's not yours.'_ It came unbidden, but the thought was correct—best he learned not to use that possessive term anymore; Misoka had always been the one to scold him for his familiarity with her. _'Not without reason,'_ he reflected, eyeing the house and searching for her room. Even now, in present times, a mere servant such as he could not as much as stand in the face of the Emperor—a mere boy one fifth his size—without severe repercussions. It was absolutely unheard of. He'd be killed on the spot if he dared such an act of blatant defiance. Even Oboro, the Emperor's uncle, could not stand in his presence—unless he claimed the throne, which would just bring about more dispute than they could afford.

Thoughts of Oboro and the Emperor made him think of last night; he should have known she'd run. After all, she was being told everything she'd always thought was make-believe was actually truth—vampire, werewolf, tengu, kitsune . . . myths and legends brought to life.

She had every right to run.

He'd tried to follow—to bring her back—but Oboro had been right in stopping him; Selene-knew what he'd say to her without thinking, blurting out a history she didn't need to know. Maybe, one day, he'd tell her—if she got curious, or if one of the others (Akira, namely) decided to let slip something without meaning—but they were nowhere near that level of trust, and even after so many millennia had past, the pain was still too near. Too personal to share or analyze.

'_Big house,_' he mused, seemingly looking at the walls intently. As a member of the Lunar Race, he was able to _feel_ the aura of the Moon—her blood called and sang to him; a lullaby he was unable to resist. It was like that for all of them, which made his recent meeting all the odder—Hanna, Mahiru's aunt, had not had the same distinctive energy as her niece. _'But she _is_ the Descendant of the Princess—shouldn't her aunt have the same presence?'_ Unless, of course, Hanna was connected to Mahiru through her father, in which case, the Princess' bloodline would not be present through the older woman. Which was unfortunate. _'Perhaps her mother . . .?'_

The thought of Mahiru's parents struck another chain of emotions in him; they'd died, so he couldn't very well ask them any questions—and, in all honesty, this much curiosity over the Descendant's life and history was not necessary, helpful, or even the least bit healthy—but it led him to wonder a few things. _'Had her reincarnation forgotten everything?'_ he questioned. Thousands of years had passed since Selene, but he still remembered the little platinum-haired girl as if it were yesterday.

Was that normal? He'd been reborn—some changes, but none too drastic—not reincarnated; but was it still normal to remember all of the soul's previous encounters? He was no expert at this. The thought of her reborn, growing, and marrying another—having children that would eventually lead to the Descendant he found—and dying as a regular human, however. . .

'_Ah; there it is.'_ Mahiru's window overlooked the roof of another section of the house—one he'd never seen or been to, but that hardly mattered. In seconds, he'd landed quietly upon the shingles; the window wasn't locked either, though closed to keep away any harmful drafts. _'Perhaps she shares her ancestor's weak constitution.'_ He could see her face, blotchy and feverish with ill-health. The vampire allowed himself a moment of reminiscence; of a memory that swirled in his ever-moving rivers of thought. She'd fallen into the creek by the cabin, the little Princess, and had coaxed him to do the same—but though it was a warm, humid night, she'd awoken with a horrible cold the next day. He'd had to keep her at the cabin until she'd gotten better, and by then, the Palace was in an uproar.

'_How did she manage to keep sneaking out for so long?'_ he wondered, sliding open the window and silently creeping inside. _'And keep us a secret?'_ It hadn't lasted forever—but it had lasted long enough that. . .

He shut the window behind him, wincing when he couldn't control the slight bang it made. When the aunt didn't barge into the room, he relaxed a little and walked over to the bed, careful not to stir or awaken the sleeping girl. Nostalgia hit him like a ton of bricks—she looked exactly the same. _'I wonder if her mother named her Mahiru purposely.'_ Was it a common name amongst the family? He smiled at himself faintly. _'I'm skeptical of everyone named Mahiru.'_ It was comical . . . and sad.

The years had been long in their search for the Blessed One. In the beginning, Nozomu had been somewhat opposed to the idea of finding the Descendant; another girl with the same eyes and hair? That same laughter—the same smile? He couldn't survive that heartache again; but it was for his people. He was being selfish in not joining the search—letting his personal involvement overrun his good senses—and so he became one of the Bandits, his keen eyes always on the lookout for hair that reflected the light of the moon; eyes of endless nights and music in her voice. Obviously, he hadn't found her until now—well, technically, _Mitsuru_ had found her first—but for so long, he wondered what he might do if he found her. His little Mahiru.

Well, his Mahiru had grown, apparently, and had had children.

Did that mean that _this_ Mahiru would haunt his dreams now, too?

At the risk of his hand transforming, he pushed the hair from her face, watching her twitch from the unsuspected contact. It was soft. "You look so much like her," he whispered, sitting on the floor in front of her slumbering silhouette. He wanted some quiet, just for a little while. "Do you stargaze, I wonder." She frowned in her sleep. "A nightmare? Or do you share her gift of foresight?" It would make sense to just awaken her and ask her these questions—but she had not seemed so accepting of them last night, and he did not wish to stress her when she was so obviously unwell. He wondered if some part of her could hear him; and then wondered if she would scream when she awoke and found him here. _'No—she'd still be too weak.'_

He couldn't know that she wasn't having a nightmare at all; that she was simply dreaming. _'Princess, Princess, why do you cry?' _He simply sat and watched, letting his mind wander to different times.

Some time later—he hadn't kept track—he heard her breathing change subtly. She was going from deep-sleep to the relaxed resting phase, mumbling some unintelligible babble under her breath as she shifted beneath the covers. Standing—and stretching his cramped legs—he walked to the window, leaning against the wall by the sill. Outside, the sun's glow was changing from morning glimmer to afternoon glare—it flooded through the pane and lit the room with warmth . . . but it was nothing to the Moon's beauty.

In a low whisper, he sang the story that had stuck with the Lunar Race since before he could remember. It had become habit to recite the ancient verses, and it felt right to vocalize them now in the presence of the Blessed One. _'In a way, she's been looking for us, as well,'_ he mused to himself, forgetting momentarily that he was not supposed to be here.

But he'd wait forever if it meant he could just talk with her. Just for a little while.

"You have a wonderful voice."

He almost leapt a foot in the air. Turning to face her, he studied her sleepy countenance . . . and wondered how she could be so receptive of his presence. A change of heart? "How are you feeling?" He came closer, but dared not touch her—this time, he would uphold propriety.

She sat up, keeping the blankets comfortably against her belly. It was a pose he knew quite well. "A little dizzy," she admitted. He noticed how she avoided his eyes.

"Could I get you something? Tea, perhaps?" He wanted to touch her forehead, but dared not. "Your aunt told me you were unwell. I'm sorry," he apologized, but for different reasons. "I hope we didn't scare you. It's my fault. I should have approached it differently." In spite of logic, he reached out and gently touched the back of her hand. He didn't let himself linger on the soft warmth of her pale skin, but the brief contact was enough to transform his own appendages.

She looked curious, not afraid. He felt a glimmer of hope. "Is that . . . ?"

He nodded. "Our human forms are simply one facet of who we are." When she didn't recoil, he--perhaps too eagerly--entangled their fingers together, careful not to harm her with his claws. "We are governed eternally by the Light of the Moon." Should he tell her? He felt the urge rise and choke him. _'It is not her burden to bear.' _Her eyes, he saw, were wide and uneasy. Perhaps he should have done as Misoka said. He should not have come here . . . but her eyes . . . Selene help him. He could drown in them, but managed to steel himself--he would get through this. For his people, he would choke back the bile of desire and shield her from a past she would never know. Resolve renewed, he continued. "Your ancestor, the Princess of the Moon, was reborn on Earth many years ago. You are her Descendant. You carry the Light of the Moon within you."

Why wasn't she saying anything? Fear aside, wouldn't any normal human ask a million questions? For instance, how could a civilization have ever existed on the Lunar surface without it ever being documented within Earth's texts and research? Or, how did the Lunar Race come to live hidden amongst the masses of humans? How did they transform? Why is the Moon of present day un-inhabitable and desolate? How were they reborn?

He'd been prepared for a barrage of questions. He remembered how his little Princess of before was always _so nosey_. This . . . blatant lack of response didn't bode well. "Princess?" he tried.

"Mahiru," she corrected, although it sounded automatic even to his ears. "Um . . ." she took a breath. "Wo . . ." and then she couldn't seem to continue.

He thought that, perhaps, she might have been in shock. When he tried to apologize and somehow fix this disaster--although he had no clue of _how_ to fix it--she finally found the words. "W-would you like . . . to have a frappicino with . . . me?"

The silence rang thickly in his ears. Now it was he who could not respond.

Unbeknownst to Nozomu, Mahiru's mind had hit warp-speed the second she'd felt his presence in her room. She didn't know what to say without stumbling over herself, and couldn't look at him without flushing . . . or wanting to burst into tears. His hands were as strong as she remembered them and when he pulled his away, she fought _hard_ with herself to let him and not clutch onto it desperately.

As it was, mortification slowly started to seep into her cheeks. She didn't even know what a frappicino _was_. Junko loved them, she remembered. Unfortunately, that didn't help her in the slightest.

A slight pressure on her chin forced her gaze to meet his. "I'd love to." That smile of his should be outlawed. It was far too charming for any respectable woman to resist. "I'll leave you to your morning routine. Let me know once you've finished."

He vanished before she could say another word, leaving her to wonder if she'd imagined it all. She threw off the covers with a fervor only the desperate could conjure. Any sickness or ill-health must have vanished along with him; pure adrenaline drove her into high gear and she raced about her room like a maniac. Usually, a bout of this sort would have her tripping and stubbing her toes at least twice with a nice side of bruises to boot; instead, she seemed to glide from point to point, not once hurting herself. It was odd. It was absurd. Absolutely unheard of in all of her human years on this Earth.

Then she paused. She was jeopardizing herself in her own folly. A _date_? She was being ridiculous. She couldn't justify it to _herself_. Exposing the truth would not only bring harm to her physically, but would shatter what last shred of her people remained. If there were any others. _'Are there any others?'_ Maybe more of her people were reborn than she initially thought. Maybe. . .

She lowered to her knees. _'Sweet Diane, Mother of the Night and Holy Goddess of the Moon, please grant me your blessing. My sins are grievous and cannot be forgiven. . . but I beg of you, allow me this one indulgence. This one day to forget the tragedy I have wrought upon my people--your children. Permit me this sliver of happiness.' _

She wasn't surprised to find tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

**END.**

**Author's Note**: For future references, I have no clue what the hell Mahiru's aunt's name is. If they said it in the manga, I completely missed it. I searched everywhere – no evidence of a name. So since I was reading the latest Furuba novel, guess whose name I chose? Just thought I should point that out . . . and yes, the first chapter was a rewrite of the original manga introduction of NozomuxMahiru.

One more thing. I have the distinct feeling I'm not even trying with this story. It's more of a . . . dusting-off-the-cobwebs deal . . . huh.


End file.
